


Like Water Through a Sieve

by breatheforeverypart



Series: To the Victor Goes the Trauma [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Annie Cresta dies in the capitol, F/M, Finnick dissociates, Forced Prostitution, Gen, I like the idea of Johanna and Finnick taking care of each other in a non-sexual way, I'm Sorry, Just Friends, More like family really, Severe PTSD, Sexual Abuse, Suicidal Ideation, Traumatic Brain Injury, mentions of drug use, mentions of past suicide attempts, references to rape, the rope is a grounding tool for Finnick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheforeverypart/pseuds/breatheforeverypart
Summary: This is my first story in the Hunger Games universe.  I have wanted to explore Finnick's experiences with forced prostitution and how that history would impact his breakdown in the 3rd book in the series, Mockingjay.  This story explores how Finnick copes in  typical day and how Johanna is a part of that journey in recovery.In my AU, Annie Cresta was the love of his life, but tragically died in the Capitol while imprisoned by President Snow.
Relationships: Annie Cresta & Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason/Finnick Odair
Series: To the Victor Goes the Trauma [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776307
Kudos: 40





	Like Water Through a Sieve

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Please let me know if you are interested in reading more from this AU. You can find me here or on tumbr as breatheforeverypart <3

My name is Finnick Odair. I survived the 65th and 75th Hunger Games. Jo and I are in District 13. The Girl on Fire is not dead. Annie is dead. His vision blurs, the words swimming on his arm. Someone had written these facts along the inside of his right arm. They were important, even though they shattered his heart every time he read them. He suspected that he read the tattooed words a lot. 

His fingers itched for the one length of rope he was allotted. Supplies were scarce in District 13, not that Finnick minded. Often people had to remind him he was eating. He had no appetite. No desire to live, how could he? His reason for collecting secrets, the woman he loved was murdered by President Snow. 

His own body, held prisoner by the Coin person. What difference did it make who held his leash? His hands manipulated the rope deftly, the practiced movements soothing. 

Square Knot  
Bowline  
Two Half Hitches  
Clove Hitch  
Taut line 

Sheet band. His hand shook. He wasn’t allowed to make that knot. His left arm bore a bright yellow strip of plastic, tightly bound to his wrist. It claimed him as a resident of District 13’s hospital. He knew it marked him as insane, a potential danger to himself and others. He thought all Victors should be labeled as such, after all they had to be deranged to survive. 

A fuzzy memory caught his attention. Green grey uniforms swarming him. Finnick suffocating under their warm weight. Screams pierced his awareness, and he wished someone would kill whoever was bawling. All he felt was the acute silence as the needle pierced his thigh. Again. When lucidity deigned him with a visit, he found himself restrained to a rickety gurney. His rope confiscated and sanity lost. 

Shakily, Finnick began the sequence of simple knots again. Thoughts drained from his head like water through a sieve these days. 

He drifted again. This happened a lot. His hands were always in motion, acting independently from his traumatized brain. His feet carried him further into the maze of tunnels. Perhaps a mutt would grant him the death he deserved. He should suffer more than Annie in the end. 

“Finnick?” 

He flinched, the rope slipping through his fingers. His survival instincts, hypersensitive from his time in Games engaged. He became acutely aware of the buzzing lights and damp walls. He scanned the vicinity for threats. The Arena struck him as strange. Where were the cameras? 

The voice sounded closer. Threat? “Fin. What are you doing down here?” A woman, hallucination maybe? Everyone here deemed him crazy. Even the hospital staff, the girl with the flowery name, Rose, Daisy, Prim? She looked at him with pity. In chasing death, he had failed too many times. 

A laugh escaped his mouth. “Don’t know.” Finnick’s hands knotted his hair, he tugged at it, willing himself to act. 

In a lucid moment, he caught the face of the girl staring at him. He knew her. Girl on Fire. No. Dead. Was she dead, or was that a lie? Capitol? Snow’s client. No. Wrong, his brain cried. Everything was wrong. 

She reached for him. He caught the movement in his periphery, reflexes activated without his consent. When judging friend or foe, he always chose foe. Thanks, Panem. 

He pushed her, the impact of her body against the wall echoing in the enclosed space. She cursed, breathing hard. 

“Damn it Odair.” The words were sharp, but familiar. If she wanted him dead, he would be dead. He knew this, but could not grasp how. 

Finnick’s spine pressed against the cool wall, controlling his descent as his legs slid out from under him. 

“Why’d you have to run off? You’re making me look good up there. And that’s saying something.” She wheezed. “I’m the new Haymitch of Victors.” Her eyes were rimmed in purple, bones jutting out. The gaunt woman’s scalp shone in the dim light, every bit of hair removed. 

“Jo.” He croaked. Why was she here? Where was here? “What the hell are we wearing?” 

“About time.” She groaned, any movement seemed to torture her frail body. “Move over. As for this potato sack, that’s exactly what 13 calls elegant.” 

Finnick pulled his legs against his torso, rocking slightly. He’d give anything to be back with Annie in District 4. Her body would not be returned, he knew it. What did her family think of him? Did they loathe him as much as he hated himself? The water that surrounded his district could not contain his grief. The ocean remained one of few balms that could even touch these nightmares. Water. 

“Here.” Johanna held his rope in her palm. 

He must have drifted again. Finnick looked at the rope, unable to make his body reach. 

“We’re missing dinner you know.” Johanna let her head fall towards Finnick’s shoulder. 

He accepts the weight of her head against his arm, although she soon shifts her position. Jo is a friend. She was tortured in the Capitol, along with Annie and The Girl on Fire’s lover. 

Flashes of sickly-sweet perfume and garish costumes ensnared his senses. Saliva soured in his mouth, a sure sign of impending vomit. 

The barrage of memories poured over his mind, not unlike a violent summer rain. Clients purred in his ear, hands choking him, leaving impressions of teeth on his body as a reminder of who really controlled the Districts. 

The names of the prep team that erased the evidence each day escaped him, their looks mirrored those of Prim and others here in District 13. Was any of it real? He had once held secrets, but they leaked out of his brain. 

People died for resisting, Johanna was proof of Snow’s wrath. 

“Give me your arm.” She demanded, her tone betraying an unusual amount of patience. 

She reads the smudged phrases, meant to tether him to reality. “You know these already, right?” Johanna pointed to his name and ‘accomplishments’ in both Games. 

Nodding took effort, nearly as much as the words he tried to form. “We are in 13. Real or not real?” 

“Real.” Jo clumsily knotted the rope. “A real shit hole, but real.” She paused, ultimately deciding to continue. “I never thought I’d miss trees, but I do.” 

“Home?” Finnick asked, trying to recall her district number. She favored an axe in the Arena, that meant lumber. 7? Suddenly he smelled blood. He could only see the whites of her eyes from the Quarter Quell, every inch of her coated in the sticky macabre rain. 

“He killed them all, everyone I ever gave a shit about.” She tapped her bald head against the wall. “My anger, I’m the reason they were murdered.” 

“I know.” The fog in his brain receded enough for Finnick to be able to stroke the rope in her hands. 

Johanna tried to pass the fraying cord to him. “You do?” A hint of surprise could be heard in her voice. 

Finnick’s lips cracked into a half-smile. “Yeah. I’m full of secrets remember?” 

Johanna laughs. “That you are Odair.” 

They sit in a comfortable quiet for a while, Finnick’s hands moving with Johanna’s over the rope. He teaches her without words, the names of knots locked away in Finnick’s jumbled mind. 

Square Knot  
Bowline  
Two Half Hitches  
Clove Hitch  
Taut line 

Hours later, Jo finds her way to Finnick’s room in the hospital wing. She steals his supply of morphling, desperate for anything to numb the flashbacks. Finnick lays awake, keeping his hands busy by knotting his fraying rope. 

“Got you something.” She whispers, curled against the railing of the gurney. 

Finnick’s hands freeze, half-expecting a silver parachute to drift into his lap. No Arena, he corrects. Jo is in District 13, with me. 

Johanna extracts a long length of sturdy rope from her robe. He reaches for it automatically, drawn to the substantial material. 

She holds it to her sunken chest, just out of his grasp. “Promise me, Fin. You can’t use it to make a noose. You’re not leaving me alone in this hell hole.” 

“Course not, Jo.” His voice cracks. “We’re leaving here together.” He promises. 

She looks him over for a long moment before handing him the cord. “Where will we go?” She aligns herself as close to him as possible without actually touching. 

Finnick lets himself think of home. There is a moment of peace before grief overshadows any pleasant associations with his District. 

He hums as he begins to knot the old and new lengths of rope together. Johanna watches until the drug tugs her into what Finnick hopes is a dreamless sleep. 

Alpine Butterfly Bend  
Blood Knot  
Carrick Bend  
Klemheist Knot  
Underwriter’s Knot


End file.
